


When I Come Home

by QueenoftheBritons



Series: Arthur's Return [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Arthur Returns, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Arthur, Sad Merlin (Merlin), Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons
Summary: Arthur died, but both he and Merlin were told he would return when Albion's needs were greatest. Unfortunately, neither knew when that would be, and they both suffered many years alone.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Arthur's Return [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723072
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111





	When I Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this new experiment, and as always, if you do, leave kudos and comments if you like!
> 
> The italicised parts are from 3 separate songs:  
> You Are The Reason  
> Falling Like The Stars  
> Work Off My Hurt

_I swear to God, when I come home_

Arthur saw him, his servant, his friend, his everything, praying. For relief, for answers, for _anything,_ and it left a burning pain in his chest. Which was ridiculous, because he was not completely sure he should be able to feel anything. He couldn’t explain it as anything else, though, and watching Merlin all these years had convinced him that their bond could transcend any power. It was only a shame that Merlin could not see it, right now. That he could not feel him there, with him.

The plague had ravished the land totally and completely, causing pain and misery wherever one looked. As far as the eye could see, bodies piled, mass graves and burnings, the stench quite unbearable. Arthur, from where he hovered, could smell it, but was convinced he was only experiencing the memories of the burnings from his father’s reign. Sometimes, even, from his own. At least these were not bodies he had condemned, he thought bitterly, but wondered if Merlin made a connection.

His friend stumbled about the place, still with the face of a young man, but haggard by the years he had spent wandering, mostly alone. Arthur had watched the man make connections with people, because Merlin, he knew, could be resilient. However, he watched as his friend refused to make any meaningful relationships. As he stumbled the earth, the weight of the world appearing to weigh him down, his pale features shadowed by the dark circles under his eyes of the recent days’ perils, Arthur saw the pain of a thousand years written in his eyes, across his face, spreading through his body like his own plague.

Still, though, he offered his aid. He put the training Gaius had given him for many years, before his own tragic passing, into much needed service. Now, with many years of experience, Arthur could not help but watch in awe at the man’s skill. It hurt, though, unfathomably, to see him continuing to have to hide his magic. Had things changed at all for him? Arthur watched with a melancholy that had festered over the years, wondering when he would be able to return to the earth and offer some support.

_I don’t wanna sleep alone_

Merlin woke up with a start, hand clutching his chest as perspiration stung every part of his warm, trembling form. Gasping, he blinked, catching a glimpse of the darkness of the night sky, the stars glistening beautifully, shining a little light into the otherwise black room. With a flick of the wrist, the warlock created his own stars within the room, a little dimmer, but equally beautiful.

Again, he heard his voice, begging, pleading to be heard. He wondered, was he going mad? He was sane enough not to voice his beliefs outside of these four walls, the world changing so fast, views expanding, learning, except for some. The future he had once hoped for was a slow and uneasy road, and it was times like these, these terrible times, that he wondered if his life was a reality.

So many nights he spent, by his bed, praying with his hands clutched together tightly, as if it made a difference. Perhaps his life, like Arthur’s voice in the night, was just a dream, a wonderful fiction, something that would never be. That could never be.

Shaking himself, he kicked his feet from the bed, eyes lighting at the stars as they moved out of his way, dancing around the room. If this was a dream, he thought, he never wanted it to end. Smiling tentatively, he sighed, closing his eyes as he listened again. It came as no surprise that he heard only the crying in the streets, the prayers of his community, the wails of mothers, fathers, lovers, wishing their loved ones a safe journey onward, upwards. He clenched his jaw, opening his eyes, shining a used gold, blocking the sounds for a blissful moment. It had been many weeks, months even, and he wondered when it would end.

There was no sign of Arthur, his King, his friend, his everything. It made him so deeply sad, leaving a hole in him where there should be so much more feeling. He was also fearful, hearing the prophesy over and over in his head. _When Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again_. The sounds of the street reached him again, and he focused on a thought; if this was not the greatest need, when would it be?

_I’m gonna hold you so close_

It was strange, watching Merlin wander the earth without him. Sometimes, his need for Arthur was palpable. The king wondered if those around him could sense his loneliness, could feel it as painfully as he could. To reach out and offer a hand, anything, whilst his eyes were open, was all he could wish for. He was curious when he had become this way, and realised perhaps death made him wiser, more perceptive to his own emotions as much as everyone else’s. Looking back at his time breathing, he regretted moments wasted. Moments so easily, so shamefully, turned in a different direction, the wrong direction. How many wrong turns had he taken in his life?

Now, though, was not the moment to dwell on those moments. Because, it was one of those rare moments, where he saw Merlin. Not the warlock, not the despairing man, but Merlin. His goofy, toothy grin, on view for everyone to see. Beaming, ridiculously, blissfully happy, because of a _book._ Arthur would grin, had he a body, but his spirit felt brighter watching the scene.

His servant held the book proudly, clutching at it as he read the words, over and over. It was a new thing, a new invention of the more modern age. Arthur had already seen some of their other works, looking on in amazement at their creations, only a little jealous that Merlin could experience them all first-hand.

Merlin held the book out, stroking it admiringly, but glanced up a moment, staring at the sky. Arthur waited, used to it now. The man left the piece in view, talking to the sky, explaining the process of the printing press. He smiled, saying this was true magic, these inventions, these ideas. It was a one-sided conversation, though, and when Merlin had finished his babbling, he realised that.

Arthur ached impossibly, “I hear you.”

There was a whisper on the wind, Merlin’s candle flickered in the breeze. It caught the man’s attention, and Arthur could feel himself leaning forward, despite the problems with that, but was pushed back when Merlin ducked his head, shaking it sorrowfully. If spirits were even capable of feeling hope, Arthur’s dwindled. Raindrops fell softly from the sky, pattering against the world below, grey clouds pulling closer to each other.

_Please come back now_

Merlin paced his room, furiously, desperately, hopelessly. He screams in anger, with the power of the Dragon Lord he once was, and perhaps, one day, will be again. The door slams behind him as blue eyes glow gold, knowing the danger he could be in if caught. He knew though, this was no real witch hunt.

People died, were murdered, _burnt_ , in a display Merlin thought he would never see again. Prayed he would never suffer again. Yet, here he was, watching as across his kingdom, many found their end. Wasted lives reminiscent of those from years past, and the warlock felt the flames in his body, the magic pushing and pushing at him for release, forcing him to try and do something.

Now, without even an oblivious prince by his side, what could he do? He had lived powerful lives as his days went on, but in this time, right now, he was powerless. In Camelot, the numbers were only so many. Kingdoms spread soon, far away, and with them, ideas, persecutions, hatred.

“Is it not time?” He shouted, head held to the sky, “a second chance? To redo the mistakes of our time? To save people now!”

He was greeted to silence, and the frustration overpowered him, knocking his chairs and his table over in a sweep of uncontrolled, unapologetic magic. His face shadowed, breathing heavy, as he stared around the room.

He would never be sent to burn, or whatever torturous method they would pick for him, because this was no real witch hunt. People who had quarrels with neighbours, a lonely woman who just valued her independence, _strangers_ , were turned in. Sometimes they believed their lies, sometimes they were granted hefty rewards, and sometimes it was simply for their own pleasure that flames danced in their eye line. Merlin could feel their hatred radiate from them, suspicious eyes shifting this way and that, and his heart bled for those unfortunate soles in the way.

Crying, he knew, this was simply the beginning. This hatred would spread, far across oceans, and he would feel a powerlessness that was only becoming more and more familiar.

_I swear to God, I can see_

The Renaissance brought with it beautiful and magical things, but Arthur also saw these low moments. Merlin called for him, prayed for him, to return. To _do something_. His spirit craved to show his friend his prayers did not fall on deaf ears, that he listened, and he was just as at a loss. He waited, alone, for his time to return to earth, to his friend, but there was no sign, no voice, nothing.

He clenched his eyes shut, sometimes, when Merlin became hopeless. When there were days Merlin had to force himself from his bed, had to remind himself to keep going, for _Arthur_. He felt useless, unworthy, as his friend suffered unnecessarily.

That was why, when he noticed a budding friendship, he watched intently at one of the lighter moments of Merlin’s endless life. The man, who never opened himself up to anyone, because the pain at their loss became too much for an immortal man, finally trusted somebody.

The stranger lived away from Camelot, across an ocean, but Arthur’s servant had had the time to master every language with ease. It was comforting to see him travel, to move away from time to time from his roots, to get a taste of life away from it all. From his destiny. The king felt the guilt seeping from him, sometimes, and wanted more than anything to end it, to tell him it was good. To tell him not to wait for so long, because they would find each other, when he did return.

Merlin had met the man by chance, really, but their friendship blossomed quickly. The Italian was known as a painter, to most, but Merlin and Arthur saw he was much more than that. He had ideas, so many wonderful, mind boggling ideas, that the king could understand Merlin’s fascination with the man. He could understand why he finally opened up to him, not about his past lives, nor his magic, but a lot more than he had told anyone since Arthur’s death.

Arthur watched them chat together, the man bouncing ideas off of Merlin, and there was that lightness again, a reassurance that his friend was coping. That he was not _always_ suffering, but was living, and experiencing a whole new world that his friends from Camelot could not even dream of.

The sun shined brightly most days, beaming down on his pale friend, who was young and old at the same time. Clouds covered it though, one day, a sad day, when the kind friend Merlin had inevitably passed. Arthur would have liked to meet him, but he was alone, wherever he was. He wondered if now, the Italian would watch Merlin, too. It could not hurt to have two carers. If multiple people could watch him, though, he probably had so many more.

Merlin was sad, but Arthur could tell he had known this was coming. He knew the price of his immortality, and he supposed, it must be nice having a friend pass due to something other than man. The servant was solemn for a time afterwards, returning across the ocean, to continue his endless journey.

_I don’t want to go back home_

Times were passing, agonisingly slowly, but they were. There had been many illnesses, disease spreading through the lands, sometimes too quickly, too fervently, that Merlin could only offer so much assistance. Now, as times were going ahead, as people became more and more aware of different ideas, understanding even more, he found his interest in medicine grow immensely. Without magic, he had still trained with medicine, and there was absolutely no harm in learning from these new ideas.

Although many things were similar, everything felt new, as he focused on this part of him properly for the first time in such a long time. His opinions were valued by many, and he prayed that Gaius could see him now. He hoped the man would be proud of him, he hoped he could see he was still achieving some greatness, without any of his friends by his side. 

His book collection grew and grew, with every new piece of information, with every new theory, with every new _cure_. Merlin had always yearned to use his magic, and his ability was not diminished, but having the knowledge of helping someone without it was a greater relief to him than he ever imagined it could be.

When Arthur returned, and he would, of course, he could show him. He might show him these skills, he might show him his books. Sitting at his table one evening, practicing some medicine, using the smallest of spells to turn the pages of the many books sat before him, he stuck out his tongue in concentration. When he finished, he blinked in astonishment, jumping up in elation, a flicker of his lips lifting to a full smile, a smile he was grateful he could still wield.

As was his way, now, he spoke aloud the process of it all. He could show Arthur when he returned, yes, but he could also demonstrate it now. Maybe he was speaking to himself, but maybe his king was here, watching. Would he even be interested? Perhaps not, but at least Merlin could bore him with it.

_He says you know you're so young, you shouldn’t be alone_

Arthur found no boredom in Merlin’s explanations of complex procedures, inventions, ideas. There was only fascination and a happiness settling in, seeing Merlin’s dependency on his magic decrease a little.

Still, he knew, there were bound to be heart wrenching moments, if he still had his heart, and today was one of those days. Another day he caught Merlin’s frustrations, a sadness that never really left him breaking its way to the surface at another of humanity’s creations. This time, a place for those insane. They were not helped, but locked inside with their demons, their sorrows. In some cases, wrongly imprisoned, and watching as he did, with an even better view than a bird soaring high, he could see all the injustices of the world. Merlin did not need the view, because he had the wisdom and compassion of a man who had lived a thousand years. He had had such even before Arthur’s passing.

Merlin was frantic, but admitted to his room, to Arthur, that he had seen this coming. It was another inevitability of the growth of the world; with new inventions and ideas, there was room for new hatred to breed. Feeling guilty, Arthur could only think of those sentenced to death when he was ruler. Things were changing, but much was staying the same. He could judge, but in some cases, there were instances that he would have been considered no better. His father, definitely, could fit into this side of the new world.

He felt a movement beside him, which he paid no mind to initially, as he watched his friend pace around, alone, helpless. Then it came again, and he remembered, he was not in the room with Merlin. He was nowhere, there should be no breeze, no feeling beside him.

He was all seeing, yet somehow whatever it was kept escaping his view. He grew tired, anxious, confused, and eventually, the being had pity on him, gaining no more fun from toying with the spirit. A lady came from a light, a bright, scolding light, and her smile shone as her head held high. She sauntered backwards and forwards, but Arthur had no idea who she was.

“Hello, Arthur,” she smiled calmly, tucking a strand of her long, brown hair behind her ear as she began, “how are you?”

He would have scoffed, but he could not. He could not speak; he could offer no reply. She must know.

“You can,” she read his mind, “you did it once before, reaching into the mortal realm. You are strong, but you have to control it. Just try, speak.”

Arthur listened intently, hanging off her words, wondering if perhaps the spirit world was playing a cruel trick on him somehow.

“You don’t believe, but he would believe in you. Try it, for him.”

Shocked, he wondered if she had watched his every move on earth, as well as in spirit. Had she watched Merlin, too?

She nodded, rolling her eyes, “I have little time here, Arthur. You must listen and do as I have said, please. Merlin is dear to me, too, and right now, he needs you. Try. Speak.” There was a heavy emotion in her tone, and Arthur’s mood became sombre.

He wondered how he was supposed to just speak. She had said, though, that he had done it before. All he had done then was think his words, but he was doing that now. What else was he supposed to do?

“What do I _do?_ ” He heard the words echo, as if they had not really left his spirit, but they both knew they were his.

“Exactly that,” the lady grinned in a non-malicious way, but turned serious once more. “Merlin needs you, Arthur. He’s been through much, but right now, he needs a helping hand.”

“I know, but what can I do? He doesn’t believe when I speak to him,” his words were monotone, not portraying the helplessness he felt, but he could see from Freya’s face she understood.

“I’m going to grant you a moment, only a moment, on earth. You will be in somebody else’s body; you will not be Arthur.”

“You said he needed me,”

“I’m not so powerful, I can only do this for the both of you. Please, listen. I will send you, and you will have a moment to speak to him. That is all I can offer you, King.”

Arthur’s view gravitated away from her, down to the earth, watching the scenes of Merlin’s live unfold, some happier than others. Today was a helpless day for his friend, truly.

“Hurry, we have little time to waste,” the lady begged.

It really had been a fleeting moment; the mysterious woman had not lied about that. It crushed him when he left the body, unable to follow Merlin further. All he could tell him, could ask him to do, was not to be alone. There had been so much more he wished to say, if he had had time to prepare, he could have found his words, he could have spoken to his friend properly, meaningfully. He ached, and for the first time felt an uncomfortable frustration with it; spirits should not feel. Why was he forced to suffer this? Why was he feeling a body, a heart, in pain, when he had none?

“You did well,” the lady reappeared, fainter than before. “It might not have felt like it, but he will be better.”

“How do you know?” The voice stayed monotone, but both felt the bite at the end of his words.

“I know Merlin,” she sighed, “he is resilient. He’s stronger than we can know, and he will wait for you.”

“For how long?”

She faded away, Arthur no longer surprised with his unlucky fate.

_I don't wanna cry no more, come back, I need you to hold me_

There were so many wars. People had so many quarrels, so many issues, with one another, it made Merlin ashamed. There were some who were proud serving their countries in the wars, fighting for “what was right.” Did anybody know what right was, anymore? Merlin’s own notion of it was fading, even. Perhaps Arthur did not return simply because he was repulsed. Disgusted with what the world had become. That Morgana’s death had only been the end to their wars, but there were bigger, more horrifying cases in the future. The crimes the human race committed, and continued to commit, made Merlin’s body shiver, exhausted.

Wars continued on a small scale, for a time, but with the world growing, it was only inevitable that rulers turn to bigger investments. Merlin was a part of it all. Rebellions, civil wars, tyrannies and dictatorships, and then eventually came the wars across the world. Many countries, at the throats of another, but the men on the battlefield all looked similar; they all shared the same fear, the same confusion, the same mixture of feelings of their first kill. Some despised themselves, some grew to crave it, but none knew their real purpose. Not really. In all, Merlin used his medical knowledge to act as a doctor for the civilian casualties. Even that, though, required him to pick a side.

Eventually, there would come an end to one war. Still, Merlin had lived so long, had travelled far and wide, and he was not so foolish to believe there would be an end to all. And, some nights, some days, it all became too much. He had not survived this long only to see his world burn around him. To cry was his only option these days. He used to scream, he used to plead to the skies, to the heavens. The deities would not hear him, though. If they would not send Arthur, could he not stop wandering the earth? Could he not leave it, could he not end the pain?

A long time ago, he does not remember exactly, but he has the memory firmly imprinted on his brain, somebody spoke to him. It was not strange, but he usually went unnoticed by most, and that was how he wanted to stay. This stranger, however, spoke to him, told him he must find someone. He must not wander alone, he must find a friend. Merlin had not replied, too muddled up in his own mind to even ask why this man would say such. Had he been being watched? Were people observing him, waiting for him to slip up. Were they an enemy?

That was the problem; now, the world was full of enemies. He saw true, kind friendships sometimes, but he was forced to watch the world from a different perspective. The immortal had agonised his way through years of horror, of murder, and the thought of finding a friend anymore was fading fast.

Burying his head in his hands, he sobbed loudly.

_I'd climb every mountain, and swim every ocean, just to be with you_

Arthur screamed. He did not know how, but he did. This was all too much, and the pain fell out of his spirit as he shouted into the void. He felt so powerless, so weak. He felt guilty, for being unable to bear this, when Merlin carried the weight of the world on his old, aching shoulders. The rain was heavy, thunder brewing as the sky growled, and Arthur continued his protests.

“I must ask you, Arthur Pendragon, please, be calm.” A voice spoke, pausing Arthur’s shouts. He looked, but found nobody, and he could not recognise the voice. He had been here, alone, for such a long time, he felt anxious just hearing another sole, another being. “You are in the presence of a friend,”

“I don’t know you.”

“I know you, I have watched you. You have been in the spirit world a while now, King.”

“Why?”

“You died,” whilst Arthur’s words were monotone, this one spoke sarcastically, and Arthur wondered if he was a true friend, or something to be wary of. “You may trust me,”

“Let me go.”

“What?”

“I demand to be let go,” Arthur hoped whatever it was could hear his firmness. “I have been here too long, I am the Once and Future King. How can I rule from here?”

“You wish to be released?”

Arthur would have rolled his eyes, if he had any. “I demand that you release me from this prison, and relieve Merlin from his suffering. Release us both from this… thus _curse_!” He was surprised, as the words took the form of his own voice, his own real voice. He had no idea whether to be hopeful or hesitant.

“You ask a lot, Arthur Pendragon.”

“I have seen a lot, too.”

“Yes, I have watched. I have seen both you and Emrys, both just as alone, just as _empty_ as each other.”

Arthur wondered if there was a point to this, or if it was simply another part of his torment.

“The prophesy foretold that you will return when Albion’s need is greatest.”

“Merlin _is_ Albion, without him, there is _nothing_ of the kingdom! There is nothing on that world for me if my friend suffers so, that he will no longer wait for me. That he will no longer want to live.”

“Emrys will always wait for his king, until the day he dies.”

“And that is an even more terrifying thought.”

There was a silence, a long, painful silence in which Arthur wondered if the being had simply left him alone. He refrained from shouting to it, though, in case he appeared helpless, weak.

“Tell me you wish to return to the world,”

Again, Arthur grew frustrated, but spoke, “I wish to return to the world.”

“Arthur Pendragon, you were and shall be a great king again. The land now is even more fractured than it once was, and Emrys has seen the destruction wrought by many. I will, therefore, grant you this mercy, King, so that you might unite the land and magic.”

“I will be released?” He asked, surprised it had not taken more than that.

“You will. I must warn you, the world you knew is long gone.”

“I have seen,” Arthur sighed, half in misery, half in relief.

“Emrys has lived many lives, he will need you by his side if he is to aid you in your duty.”

“I won’t let him down.” He spoke resolutely, with a finality that made the being hum in, Arthur swore he recognised it as, happiness.

_You pull me close, guiding me home_

Merlin was racing, tripping over his own feet. He felt it, he felt the magic inside him swell, he felt a spirit falling. It _had_ to be. Now was the moment, now was his time, _finally_. No longer would he be alone, no longer would he wait.

Blue eyes caught blue, and he fell to the floor in amazement, in exhaustion, in a blinding joy that he hoped never left him. Arthur rushed over to him, concern etched across his features, as he dropped by the warlock.

“Merlin?” The king whispered, eyes roaming over his servant, his servant until the end, checking him for damage. Perhaps checking only if he were really there. Merlin found himself doing the same.

“You’re… you’re here.” His words were faint, and he pressed his hands to Arthur’s, to feel him, to touch, to make _sure_ because there had been too much suffering in his life for him to not be certain.

“I’m here, Merlin,” Arthur grabbed his hands gently, pushing his thumbs down with a reassuring pressure. “Believe me.”

_I swear to God, when I come home, I'm gonna hold you so close_

Arthur was prepared for it, when the man he had watched walk the earth for thousands of years without ageing physically, only mentally, threw himself into his arms with a force that almost knocked the pair of them over.

He welcomed it eagerly, though, tightening his own hold when he could. He shut his eyes tightly, in relief, in pure happiness, as he held Merlin, his soulmate, the man who would walk the earth for so long only for him.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, for his own ears as much as Merlin’s.

He held him close for a long time, his servant, his friend, his everything.


End file.
